


Coffee Fixes (Almost) Everything

by onehellanerd



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akira is a flirt, Canon Compliant, M/M, Mild P5R Spoilers, One Shot, Pining, akechi makes coffee, akira deals with knowing akechi is going to shoot him, it's mutual but akira doesn't know that, particularly for akechi's confidant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26262334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onehellanerd/pseuds/onehellanerd
Summary: “I think you should do this coffee making thing more often. It’s a double win - I get coffee, and I get to watch you make it for me.”“Watch my backside, you mean.”“Of course, but I was trying to be delicate.”Or: Akechi offers to walk Akira home at the end of an exhausting day in the Casino Palace. Akira seizes his last chance to charm Akechi out of his plan to betray the Phantom Thieves.
Relationships: Akechi Goro & Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro & Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 5
Kudos: 94





	Coffee Fixes (Almost) Everything

Stepping out of the casino palace for the second to last time, Akechi is, as always, graceful as a swan. 

Akira, on the other hand, graceful as a fish, trips his way back into their native universe and faceplants in front of the courthouse. 

“Akira, you ate shit,” Ryuji snickers at his friend laying on the ground. Akira’s eyes are closed, but he hears Makoto sigh, and can perfectly visualize her hand covering her eyes while she shakes her head. He groans, making no effort to get up. He is perfectly comfortable down here, thank you very much. And he can totally get up on his own if he wants to. 

“Is he okay?” Haru’s voice asks worriedly, and he can feel someone’s foot prodding his side. 

“I’m fine,” he says. With his face pressed into the concrete, it comes out more like “Mmmm fnnn.”

“I think he’s tired. Those Shadows in the Battle Arena really wore him out.” Ann’s voice. 

“Come on, Kiki, you can't sleep here!” Futaba singsongs. 

“Perhaps someone should walk him home? I would offer, but I have to get home so Sis won’t get suspicious….”

“I’ll do the honors.”

The sudden silence after Akechi speaks up is taught as a bowstring - even on the ground, Akira can tell. But no one protests. Not even Futaba, who, Akira thinks grumpily, would be the much more rational choice for an escort, considering she lives literally feet away from Leblanc. No, instead, he gets to hang out with Mr. Too Perfect Detective.

(He doesn’t want to admit to himself that he doesn’t really mind, and that maybe a part of him was hoping that this would be the outcome.)

“I don’t need a babysitter,” he complains, and it comes out more like “Arghhh nnnn bbbbbrrrrr.”

A gloved hand enters his field of view, and he begrudgingly accepts it to climb back to his feet. He fleetingly wonders what that hand would feel like without the glove, though the thought only contributes to his chagrin.

“Thanks,” Akira grumbles without heat, glancing away and dropping Akechi’s hand as soon as he’s back on his feet. 

“You have some gravel on you,” Akechi responds mildly. He steps closer, and Akira can’t resist the impulse to look at him. Their eyes meet - Akira’s breath hitches, and he hopes that the detective doesn’t notice. Akechi offers a small, sly smile - shit, Akechi _definitely_ noticed, that bastard - before he reaches out to brush gray specks off Akira’s school jacket.

“You have some on your face, too,” Futaba calls out helpfully, and like that, the spell is broken. Akira clears his throat and takes a step back, self consciously scrubbing at his cheeks. This, at least, disguises the source of his blush, though seeing Akechi’s smirk at the edge of his field of view isn’t helping. 

— — 

Akechi leads Akira into Leblanc and guides him to the bar. Akira collapses into his favorite chair with a groan, and he could swear he hears all his overextended muscles cry out in tune. Still, mustering his strength, he tosses Akechi a crooked smile and a raised eyebrow as he notes, “I was rather hoping you would take my clothes off and lead me to bed.”

There’s a beat of silence, punctuated only by a high-pitched, long-suffering groan coming from his bag. Akira pencils in “ass chewing by Morgana” on tomorrow’s mental to-do list. 

“If you’re awake enough to joke about it, then you’re certainly awake enough to take your own clothes off,” the detective responds smoothly after he recovers, with nary a reaction, though Akira thinks he spots a light pink dusting high across Akechi’s cheekbones. _I’ll consider this one a victory._

“Makes one wonder what else I’m ‘awake enough’ for,” Akira sighs with a combination of exaggerated longing and exhaustion, and - too tired to remain upright - he slumps over to rest his cheek on the countertop. He closes his eyes, so this time he cannot see Akechi’s reaction, but he hears the detective clear his throat in what is certainly an attempt to muffle laughter. _Goro: 0, Akira: 2._

Probably wisely, Akechi opts to ignore Akira’s innuendo. Akira assumes that the detective is merely going to offer goodnight wishes and take his leave, so he is mildly surprised when Akechi offers instead, “Would you like me to make some coffee?” 

This is quite the reversal of their usual roles inside this cafe, and Akira is more than intrigued by the notion of Akechi stepping into the role of barista. He is too sleepy to ponder why that may be. 

“Nothing would please me more,” he mumbles with as much sleepy irony as he can muster. (It isn’t much.) “...Thank you.”

He shouldn’t be indulging this, some distant part of him knows - Akechi is going to betray him very soon and this tenuous relationship… thing… whatever it is… is only going to be ripped away from him. He comforts himself by insisting that he merely allows this to lull Akechi into a false sense of security, to ensure that Akechi doesn’t suspect their plan. 

But to say that he doesn’t enjoy the detective’s company would be a lie. 

He cracks open a single eye to watch Akechi behind the bar. “Bustling” isn’t the right word for what he does, it certainly doesn’t imply enough grace, as Akechi moves around, reaching for beans and mugs as easily as if this were his hundredth time back there, not his first. Akira tries to think back on how many times he has made coffee for Akechi to watch while sitting in this exact chair, and quickly loses count and interest. 

He finds himself not thinking, just watching. 

And boy, is the view nice.

_I could get used to this._

“Is that so?” Akechi says lightly. He had been fiddling with the coffee pot and facing away from Akira, but now he turns back to face the tired boy at the counter. Akira has to drag his traitorous gaze up from a nefarious location to see Akechi’s lifted eyebrow, that dangerous smirk dancing at his lips.

“You can read my mind now? How is that fair?” Akira complains, though the logical part of his brain knows that he must’ve spoken aloud in his state of uninhibited exhaustion.

“Life often isn’t fair - though I’m sure you have realized that by now, Kurusu,” remarks Akechi. His red eyes seem to pierce Akira, almost as if he _can_ read his mind, and Akira finds himself closing his eyes just to escape that keen stare. When the detective speaks again, his tone is lighter, so Akira cautiously opens his eye again to see that the odd, intense moment has passed. “Though I’m afraid your philosophical accusations are somewhat unfounded in this case, being as I cannot, in fact, read your mind.”

“Whatever.” Akira is both too stubborn and too weary to bother explaining. He suspects that Akechi understands anyway, based on the insufferably knowing look he bestows upon Akira.

Akechi turns back to the coffee, and this time Akira allows his eyes to slide shut, intending to doze, but of course Akechi won’t allow him that small comfort.

“May I ask to what it was that you were referring to?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Akira plays dumb, though suddenly his cheeks feel hot and his desire to nap has passed. 

“‘I could get used to this,’” Akechi quotes, his voice suddenly soft, and Akira mentally curses the other boy for not allowing him to read his expression.

He sits up slowly, pondering his response, though he is saved from the necessity of an immediate answer as Akechi suddenly turns, holding two steaming mugs of black coffee. Akira experiences a queer combination of mingled glee and horror when Akechi winks. Something of his reaction to that wink must have shown in his expression, for Akechi’s usual TV-ready smile is somewhat broader than normal as he places the coffee before Akira.

“Your drink, monsieur,” he says grandly, and with a mock flourish he steps out from behind the bar to take the seat next to Akira.

The thought occurs to Akira that they have switched their usual seats; Akechi always chooses the one closest to the door, as if prepared to make a swift escape, while Akira’s favored spot at the bar is the closer to the sink and the stairs (which is very practical, if you ask him, in order to minimize the number of steps he has to take to get to and from the dishwashing duties oft assigned to him by Sojiro).

It… probably doesn’t mean anything. But part of Akira is entertained by the notion of seeing the world from Akechi’s point of view. He gazes absently down at the steaming mug, losing himself in the swirling black coffee, and wonders what Akechi truly has to gain by betraying the Phantom Thieves. Thanks to Futaba's keen Big Brother-esque talents, they have discovered the _how_ of the betrayal - Akira knows almost exactly what will be waiting for him at the end of Sae's palace - but not the _why._

A gloved hand touches his own, startling him out of his reverie. He jumps, nearly knocking his coffee over, and looks up at the boy to his side. Akechi looks as though he can’t decide whether to be amused or concerned. He evidently opts for concern; his brow furrows, and he tilts his head. His mouth opens, an obvious question on his lips.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Akira blurts.

Akechi’s mouth is hanging open, whatever he was preparing to say lost to time. His hand is still on Akira’s.

“I mean, that’s what I could get used to. Spending time with - er, being your friend. Hanging out. Doing things together. You know, making each other coffee and, and playing billiards and that kind of thing…” Akira coughs and bites off this awkward line of explanation. He is aware that his own flush mirrors the detective’s. He takes a deep breath, rubs the back of his neck, then continues more slowly. “I guess what I mean is… you always talk about it like we’ll never see each other again after this calling card gets sent. I mean, even if I’m not a Phantom Thief and you’re not working with us anymore, there’s no reason that we can’t be f-friends, afterwards.” He stumbles on “friends” in his desire to say something else, something more meaningful, but he does not dare open that can of worms for himself. No sense revealing his feelings if Akechi is truly going to orchestrate his death in a week, a dark part of him whispers. “Right?”

He gazes up at Akechi beseechingly. He knows the truth, that a betrayal will come, but a childish part of him wants the reassurance that _of course that won’t happen, you’re just being silly. I'll see you here next Tuesday._

And maybe part of Akira imagines that he could convince Akechi not to betray them through sheer force of his own will. He doesn’t try only because of his worry about his possible impending death (though that part is pretty significant) and the dubious outcome of the Phantom Thieves, but also because he truly, genuinely does not want to lose his relationship with Akechi. And he suspects that at least part of Akechi feels that way, too; it hasn’t been lost on Akira that it was totally unnecessary for Akechi to walk him home, to make him coffee, to stay here with him, and there’s no rational explanation other than that the detective enjoys his company, too. And maybe, if he can reassure Akechi that Akira is on his side, then maybe….

“I would like that too,” Akechi admits lowly, though his tone is hollow, his words are gruff, and he won’t meet Akira’s eyes. The unspoken “but” lingers in the air between them. His hand tightens over Akira’s, as if he doesn’t want to let it go. 

Akira isn’t quite sure how to react, but he isn’t given the chance. With a sudden, humorless laugh, Akechi releases his hand, and the moment is gone. “You haven’t told me how your coffee is!”

Bewildered, hopeful, and hurt all at the same time, it’s all Akira can do to lift the mug slowly to his lips. The coffee is, of course, amazing, and the flavor is a sufficient enough distraction from the topic at hand, though Akira can’t help but feel that he just stepped willingly into Akechi’s trap. And so they continue to ignore the elephant in the room.

“Is there anything you aren’t good at?” he quips, raising his eyebrows at the detective. Akechi clears his throat, and his cheeks darken with pleasure. It occurs to Akira that, even though this boy acts arrogant at the best of times, he has been starved for compliments, as he always seems to react to them. 

“I’m a quick learner. And I learned this ability from watching _you._ ” A smile dances on Akechi’s lips, but doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Joker recognizes the look that the detective gives him, and feels a sudden pang of sorrow for the boy who is in constant competition with the world. In those red eyes, Akira sees that combination of resentment and jealousy from the first time Akechi told him, _“I can’t bear it when people are better than me. You - you outclass me at every turn. But for some reason, I can’t stay away.”_

Akira doesn’t want Akechi to be jealous of him or to think that he has something to prove, but he has no way of articulating that, at least not without betraying feelings of his own that he isn’t quite willing to face. And so he falls back on his trustworthy methods of innuendo to lighten the mood and to distract Akechi.

(Later, Akira will wish that he had tried harder in this moment.)

“It doesn’t seem fair that you got to do all that staring at me every time _I_ served _you_ , but not the other way around. I think you should do this coffee making thing more often. It’s a double win - I get coffee, and I get to watch you make it.”

“Watch my backside, you mean.”

“Of course, but I was trying to be delicate.”

Akechi snorts - it is unattractive and adorable all at the same time, and just like that, the serious moment is broken again.

“Do you flirt with all your friends like this, Kurusu?”

“Nah, I’ve charmed them all sufficiently by now,” Joker responds cheerfully. "Wrapped around my pinkie finger." Akechi arches an eyebrow, and Akira’s heart skips a beat. 

“And you think I have not yet been charmed by you?” Akechi asks slowly, his voice somehow deeper, rougher than usual. 

“I think I can still do some work on you,” Akira breathes, suddenly realizing how close they are. Side-by-side at the coffee bar, they have turned to face each other and leaned in so that their noses are almost touching - Akira can feel the heat of Akechi’s body on his skin, hear his shallow, rapid intakes of breath, see his dilated pupils ringed by red irises. 

Three heartbeats of heavy silence pass before Akechi clears his throat and straightens. Akira tears his gaze away, heart thudding, gazing back down at his mug. The coffee offers no answers. 

“It’s late, and you have school tomorrow. I should go.” Akechi stands and deposits his coffee mug in the sink. Ever the gentleman. “I trust you can get yourself to bed without my help?”

“I’ve been doing it for sixteen years, I think I can handle another night. Although my disappointment is immeasurable.” And then, with Akechi’s hand on the door, ready to continue on into the night, Akira takes one more stab at sincerity. “Goro, I know you didn’t have to walk me home tonight. I appreciate it anyway.”

Akechi glances back at him, and Akira is startled by his expression - an attempt at the media-friendly, Detective Prince smile, but it is slightly marred by a strange, lowering emotion… sadness? Pain? Regret? 

“Watch out for yourself, Akira.”

And then he is gone. Akira cannot help the cold shiver that travels down his spine at those last, foreboding words.

**Author's Note:**

> me: wow i like the part in akechi's confidant where he admits that he's jealous of joker for always being so good at shit
> 
> also me: just gonna ignore when akechi said that thing where he hates akira
> 
> Anyway, Hi! :) this is my first real foray into Persona fics, so thanks for tagging along! Feel free to find me on Tumblr, also at onehellanerd, and/or look out for a longer fic or two coming from me here soon :o


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